


Game: A Golden Cuffs Story

by Kelyon



Series: Golden Cuffs 'Verse [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Kink Negotiation, Married Life, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26291113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelyon/pseuds/Kelyon
Summary: A month after their wedding, Belle asks Rumpelstiltskin if he'd like to indulge in one of their old favorite ways of passing the time.Nominated for the 2021 TEAs in the category of Best Smut-- Kink
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Series: Golden Cuffs 'Verse [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698358
Comments: 32
Kudos: 51





	1. Curse

Belle kept most of her riding clothes on before going up to the tower to see Rumpelstiltskin. 

When she was a girl in her father’s house, Belle had only been able to go out riding when there were no other obligations--and even then she’d had to be accompanied by her ladies and at least a few servants. Her horse then had been a docile gray mare who had been trained not to jump or even gallop, no matter how Belle had tried to spur the creature on. She’d had to ride sidesaddle in a dress, the only way that was proper for a young lady. 

But she wasn’t a young lady anymore. Now she was a woman, the wife of the Dark One, protected by his magic and free to do as she pleased. She had bought a horse with gold coins her husband had created from nothing. 

Philippe was only a farm horse, not fast, but strong and unflappable. Every morning, after waking up in her bed with her husband beside her, Belle went out for some exercise. She rode in a regular saddle with both legs astride the horse--not like a lady, but like a person in control of their own destiny. 

To aid in her mobility, Rumpelstiltskin had fashioned riding clothes for her. The two of them had experimented with giving her divided skirts and different sorts of habits, but eventually it was decided that tight-fitting trousers worked best. He had made her a dozen pairs in different colors and various blends of wool and linen. 

When it got colder, Belle planned to ask her husband for a pair of leather breeches. Even if they proved impractical for riding, she wanted to see if such an ensemble would flatter her body as much as it did his. 

For now, in these lovely summer months, it was good to get outside every day. Atop Philippe, Belle explored the forests and mountains that surrounded Rumpelstiltskin’s castle. The woods were rich with life. Walking slowly through the trees, Belle looked for birds and deer and bears. Sometimes she even caught the morning sun glinting off a dew-covered spiderweb. She had no fear of anything in the forest. Rumple’s magic kept away supernatural creatures, and animals rarely attacked something that was no threat to them.

Humans were less understanding. 

When she had first started going out, Belle had tried to visit the little town at the base of the mountain. She had thought that she might make friends with the townsfolk, at least with the innkeeper and his wife. But she soon realized how uneasy her presence made people.

Anyone who saw her coming down from the Dark One’s castle tended to avoid speaking to her unless she spoke to them first. Even then, they kept their eyes downcast and their voices were strained with fear. All of them gave her and Philippe a wide berth, moving to the opposite side of the street as they approached. Children gawked at her from windows until adult hands pulled them back out of sight. Belle couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that the villagers started talking about her as soon as her back was turned. 

She hadn’t even told anyone that she had married Rumpelstiltskin. Simply being associated with him was enough to ostracize her from polite company. 

So she kept to the forest, and kept to the castle. She stayed close to her husband and her home. There were people in the various worlds who loved her and understood her, and those were the relationships she cherished. No one else’s opinion mattered. 

Still, she enjoyed her rides. It was pleasant to have an activity of her own, something that took her away from Rumple for a few hours every day. And every time, the brief separation made their reunion that much sweeter.

“I’m home!” Belle announced as she entered the castle after putting Philippe away in the stables. Rumple knew she was back, of course. He knew everything that happened in his home, and he’d told her that he kept watch over her while she was out and about. 

But declaring her presence meant more than merely stating a fact. When she said those words to Rumple, she was telling him that the castle was her home and she was happy to be there with him. She told him that she was well, that she wanted to talk to him, that she wanted him to want her around.

She told him that she loved him.

She made her way to the landing that held the door to their bedroom and to the tower where Rumple worked most of his magic. Belle stopped by the bedroom just long enough to take off her light riding coat. The lilac-colored garment was damp with sweat and the castle air felt deliciously cool against her loose linen undershirt. 

Belle hung her coat in her wardrobe, knowing that it would be clean and pressed the next time she wanted to wear it. She kept on her brown riding boots and trousers. Rumple had never said anything out loud, but she had seen the way his eyes lingered over the shape of her legs, even when they were covered in cloth. 

When she removed the linen kerchief at her throat it exposed the openness of her shirt and just a hint of her bosom. The white fabric was thin and her perspiration had made it almost translucent. She thought about removing her stays before she went up to see Rumple, but decided against it. 

She never needed a riding crop for Philippe, but sometimes she wished she had one, for special occasions.

To cover up any unpleasant odors of sweat and horse, Belle pulled out a jar of perfume and sat down at her vanity to put it on. The jar itself was a work of art--a cube of cut crystal in a red so dark it might have been carved from a ruby. She set the top of the jar next to a sapphire-blue pyramid that contained a different liquid fragrance. Belle dipped her fingers into the red jar and swiped up a few drops of perfume. 

If anyone asked her what the perfume smelled like, she would have told them roses. But in truth, this scent was almost nothing like the flowers that had bloomed around the castle gates on her wedding day. This perfume was the soul of roses, or roses in love, sultry and deep. Only magic could create this smell of heat, of desire, of a living, primal  _ need _ .

She felt that heat in her cheeks and her chest before she even began to apply the perfume. With a light touch, she swept the scent over her wrists and her neck. One drop rolled down her throat into the valley between her breasts. The sensation made Belle shiver.

As a final touch, Belle untied the ribbon that bound her hair and shook it loose over her shoulders. Running her fingers through the curls, she coated them with the last of the perfume--Rumple had never given her a hairbrush of her own. Then, she tied the lilac ribbon back around her hair, but loosely, so the bow could be undone at a moment’s notice.

Even by her vanity, there were no mirrors in the castle. She usually didn’t miss them. If the Evil Queen could use mirrors as her spies, it was better to keep them covered. But every now and again, Belle would have liked to inspect her own appearance. Particularly on those occasions when she wanted to look especially alluring. 

When she got to the foot of the stairs, Belle called to her husband. “Is it safe to come up?”

This was another sentence that meant so much more than the mere words would imply. When Belle asked if something was safe, she was telling her husband that she trusted him. She was telling him she knew he might have more knowledge than her, and that she relied on him to protect her from harm, that she would follow his guidance if he told her to stay away. She was telling him that she loved him.

And when Rumple’s voice came down the steps as “Yes, sweetheart,” Belle knew that he was really telling her that she was welcome in his place, in his work. He was telling her that he wanted her around him, that her presence was better than solitude. He was telling her that he loved her. 

Did all couples speak to each other in a code like this, or was it only that she had married a man who lived by riddles and hidden meanings?

Either way, Belle went up the stairs to be with him.

Rumpelstiltskin was standing in front of his work table. As Belle approached, she saw him taking off a pair of dragonhide gloves and a leather apron. He pulled a beaked mask away from his face. She knew he didn’t need those protections, but he wore them so he wouldn’t have to take the time to decontaminate himself of any dangerous magic before he touched her.

The room smelled faintly of char, but there was no sign of a fire or an explosion. Several books lay open on the table, and there were beakers and vials full of brightly-colored substances. Some of the liquids floated in their bottles, while others glowed with pulsing light. In the center of the table there was a glass dome on top of an iron plate. The plate and the dome were bound together by iron chains and inside the dome something  _ moved _ .

Rumple greeted Belle with a soft kiss and wrapped his arms around her waist. He sniffed at her perfume, but didn’t mention it. “How was your ride?”

She snuggled into his embrace, rubbing the scent onto his clothes. They didn’t kiss again, but they knew they could. “It got hot once the sun burned off the morning mist. I’m almost surprised that you allow the summer sun to enter your domain.” 

“A bit of sunshine is good for the complexion.” He grinned at her, his green skin sparkling. 

Belle giggled, less because his quip was that funny and more because she was so happy. “And how is my husband?”

He pressed his lips to her forehead and breathed in slowly. “Better, now that my wife is in my arms.”

“Better?” Belle rested her hands on his shoulders. “Were things not good enough before? Is your work troubling you?”

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. “It’s nothing urgent,” he said. “Nothing that  _ must _ be done or else there will be catastrophic consequences. But I thought I might try something and the results were not as I had hoped.” 

Turning to the table, Belle broke their embrace. She stayed close enough to keep her body against his. Rumple kept one hand on her hip, slowly caressing the light brown fabric of her riding trousers. His mind was no longer on his magic. However, Belle had suddenly become curious. 

“What is it that you’ve got trapped under the glass?”

The moving thing was a strip of darkness, smaller than the length of her hand. The smell of burning seemed to emanate from it. The edges of the thing wavered and sparked, like some sort of black flame. It darted in every direction around the dome, searching endlessly, relentlessly. There was an aura of malice around it that was more than just the wriggling tendrils of death-colored magic. 

Slowly, Belle approached the table, and Rumple kept his hands on her. She knew better than to reach out to the thing in the dome, but she bent at the waist to examine it. The thing wasn’t entirely black, but held the faintest tints of a deep, angry red. It reminded her of blood, of meat.

“It’s not some kind of creature, is it, Rumple?”

Gently, he pulled her back, away from the thing. “It is a curse, my dear. But a small one, and fairly harmless.”

Her gaze shifted from the dome to her husband. She wasn’t afraid of this magic, not while he was there to protect her. “What kind of curse is it? What does it do?”

“Like I said, it’s a simple hex. It wouldn’t do much trouble even if it got out. The curse is, ‘May your bacon always burn.’”

At the sound of its purpose, the curse reared up and started banging itself against the glass. Belle jerked back against Rumple’s body, but her reaction was more out of surprise than fear. The chains kept the dome weighted down against the plate and the effect that cold iron had against certain spells held true. In no time at all, the curse seemed to have exhausted itself. Though it didn’t stop, its movements became listless and sluggish. Tendrils drooping, it floated instead of flying around the dome.

Full of nothing by curiosity, Belle looked at her husband. “What did you think you would find out from studying a curse?”

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed before he spoke. “I, uh, I was trying to study the nature of curses and the effect of malicious intent on a spell. My perspective on such matters has… shifted, in the past month or so.” He twisted his wedding ring around his finger.

It had been a little more than a month since she had put that ring on him, since she had claimed him as her own forever. Belle put her hand over his, to still his nervous fidgeting. “What did you find out?”

He squeezed her hand before he let it go and went to one of his books. “Tell me, my love: What is the difference between a curse and a blessing? Don’t think, just tell me the first thing that comes to your mind.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. He had gone from magic to philosophy, and his question surely would have a philosophical answer. “I suppose… curses are evil.”

“And what is the difference between evil and good?”

Belle thought only a moment before answering. “Well, evil things hurt people.”

“Aha!” Rumple snapped his fingers and pointed. She had gotten to the heart of his explanation. “But is it  _ always _ evil to hurt people? Would you say a soldier at war is evil? How about a knight at a tournament, even if he just knocks his opponent to the ground? Is an executioner taking a murderer’s life less evil than the criminal himself?”

“But those are all  _ people _ , Rumple. And what harm is acceptable under what circumstances is a matter for law-makers and clerics. You were examining a curse.”

“Yes.” Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes darkened as he gazed at the strip of black fire he kept under glass. “Unlike a person, a curse has no choice, not even an ability to mitigate the pain it causes. And a curse  _ is _ pain, my sweet. For a magic-user to create a curse requires a wealth of intense, concentrated, damage on the heart. A hurt so unspeakable that the only way to be rid of it is to inflict it on another victim. And even then, the wound remains. It festers, like a stinking mold on the soul. No matter how you try, you’re never really clean again.”

He had turned away from her as he spoke, bracing his hands on the table. He stared intently at the curse and Belle could feel dark magic gathering around him. How many curses had her husband created? How much pain had he suffered and made other people suffer? How much damage, how much ‘stinking mold’ was on his soul?

The thought frightened her and she wanted to pull away. Instead, she stepped closer. 

She put her hand on his arm. “Rumple?”

He didn’t react to her touch. His eyes had become black and unfocused. He was seeing things that did not exist in the world where she stood. Ghosts and regrets were never far from his mind, Belle knew, and this talk had opened up a door for them.

But she had the power to shut that door. 

“Rumpelstiltskin,” Belle ordered, “look at me.”

With a shudder, her husband came out of his trance to obey her. He blinked several times, and each time his inhuman eyes became less black and more gold.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I--what were we saying?”

“You were telling me how terrible curses are.”

“Yes.” He took a heavy breath. “Yes, Belle. And you were listening to me.”

“I was.” Belle kept her hand on his arm, but gave him enough space to breathe. “But we don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded, his eyes closed. He rubbed his face with one hand, the hand with his wedding ring on it. The golden band shone, reflecting the late morning light. His other hand gripped at the back of Belle’s loose shirt. He held her tightly, afraid to let go. 

“I did have a point,” he said with a rough exhalation. The sound might have been a chuckle. “My experiment today was to see if a curse could be… redirected. Not broken, not reversed. I wanted to see if I could keep it whole, but shift its purpose, the same force for the opposite ends. I thought I might, somehow,  _ compel _ harm to become helpful. I thought I could create  _ goodness _ out of something that is built of nothing but rage and destruction.” He shook his head, sour and weary. “But it’s hopeless.”

“Well of course it is.” Belle put her arms around her husband’s waist and rested her head on his chest. His breathing had slowed, but it was still labored. “You said it yourself, Rumple: a curse has no choice.” 

He shuddered again and clutched his arms around her body, buried his face in her hair. “Then what hope is there for evil people?”

Like a key turning in a lock, the mystery of his thoughts suddenly opened to her with a  _ click _ .

“Oh,” Belle said out loud. “Oh,  _ Rumple _ . Is that what this is all about? About you?”

He pushed himself away from her embrace and took a few long strides around his workroom until he was alone in the center of the floor. “Dark magic is all that I have done--all that I have  _ been _ \--for so long, Belle.” He took a deep and heavy breath. “I cannot dream of giving up evil entirely, not yet. But I thought that I could… transform it, a little. I thought I could make myself better, for you.” His hands balled into fists. He stared again at the trapped curse. “But the principle doesn’t hold, not even on the simplest of spells. A curse  _ cannot _ be made good.”

As much as she understood her husband, Belle knew she had to disabuse him of at least one notion before they went any further. “But you are not a curse, Rumple.”

“Am I not?” He held up his hands for her examination. “This is a curse that I need, that I use every day to provide for myself and for you. Being the Dark One means  _ living _ off of dark magic and all magic comes at a price.” He sighed, casting his gaze around the room. Belle saw him look at his spinning wheel, his spellbooks and potions, at the curse he had contained but could not control. Then he looked down at the floor, dejected. “I never minded paying until now,” he said softly. “I never minded being evil, until a good woman pledged to love me.”

Belle stepped up to her husband and gently took his hands. He gave himself to her, unresisting, but he did not meet her eyes.

“For as long as I’ve known you,” she said softly, “you have never made a secret of your evil.” She rubbed her thumb against his knuckles. “You’re usually more prone to hiding your goodness and your vulnerabilities.”

His eyes were still downcast, but his lips twitched into a half-smile. “And you found them out anyway, you remarkable woman.”

“And they were worth the search,” Belle assured him. “Rumple, I  _ love _ your goodness, but I know that you are more than just one thing. I know that darkness is a part of you. It was the first part of you I ever knew.”

He grabbed her hands and shook his head. “I wish it wasn’t,” he said. “You are so good, Belle. You deserve a good man for a husband.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re trying to  _ become _ a good man instead of trying to force me to be with someone I ‘deserve’ instead of with you, the man I love.”

He squeezed her again and pulled her into his arms. He embraced her so fiercely Belle thought it would leave bruises. She didn’t mind the idea. 

“I can’t live without you, Belle,” her husband whispered. “I tried, but I hated it. I’m sorry I’m so weak.”

“I hated it too,” she reminded him. “I didn’t want to be away from you, that’s why I came back. And I know who you are, Rumpelstiltskin. I know what you’re capable of and how your mind works--and I still agreed to marry you. I appreciate that you want to be a better person, but please don’t think that I want you to become something entirely different than what you are.”

Rumple said nothing, but he rested his head against hers and nodded. 

“I meant what I said before,” Belle went on. “ _ You _ are not a curse. You are a person who  _ does _ actions. And yes, some of those actions  _ are _ curses, I won’t deny that. Some of your actions are cruel and thoughtless, and most of your magic is dark. But  _ you _ !” She held his face in her hands. “You, my love, my husband, my Rumple--you are more than your worst actions. A curse doesn’t have a choice, but you do. Every time, you have a choice.”

“But so often my choices are wrong. If evil is what hurts people, I have done plenty of that.”

“I know,” Belle conceded. She rubbed his temples with her thumbs. “But that doesn’t mean that you are beyond hope, that you are unworthy of love. I have never believed that.”

“I know.” He held her close again. His hands stroked her back, twisted into the ends of her hair in its ribbon. They breathed together for a moment. “Even in the beginning, you never hated me as much as you should have.”

“Stop,” she ordered gently. “If I could order you to stop hating yourself, I would.”

Rumple chuckled and kissed her forehead. “Even that magic has its limits.”

She rested on his chest. “But I love you,” she said. “And I wish you could love yourself.”

“It’s easier to contemplate, when you’re around.” He held her by the shoulders to look her in the eye. “I  _ do _ want to be a better man for you, a man who is actually worthy of your love.” 

Belle smiled. “I’m just happy you’re thinking of yourself as a man at all,” she said. “It wasn’t that long ago you didn’t.”

“It wasn’t that long ago I  _ wasn’t _ ,” he countered. “You did transform me, my Belle. Your love… kept me from ever being a complete monster.”

Belle tried to keep her smile, but she couldn’t hide the slight slump of her shoulders.

“What is it?” Rumple asked.

“Nothing,” Belle said too quickly. She looked down at her hands, at her ring. “I just… I’ve had some selfish thoughts lately.”

“Oh?” he said lightly. “What is selfish for you, my sweet?”

It was Belle’s turn to fidget, to not look her lover in the eye. She stepped away from him, wandering uselessly in the small room. “It’s just… something I wanted to ask of you. But I worry that it isn’t something that you want to do anymore.”

Rumpelstiltskin cocked his head. “Now what on earth could there be that I wouldn’t give to my wife?”

Suddenly very hot, Belle swallowed. “I…” she began. “I worry that you will blanch at the idea, that it will be too evil for you now, for the man you want to be.”

Now his eyebrows furrowed and his voice became serious. He crossed the space that separated them. “What evil would you ask of me, Belle? Did someone hurt you? Do you want a head on a platter? I will destroy your enemies in an instant, if you just say the word.”

“No,” Belle almost laughed. But what she really wanted seemed too absurd for laughter. It had been weighing on her mind even before the wedding, before she came back to the castle, ever since the night she had been brought back from Regina.

Had it really been that long?

She took a breath. “Rumple,” she began. “Do you remember the chipped cup?”

He looked at her, quizzical. “Of course I remember your chipped cup. It’s still downstairs. We look at it every day.”

“Do you remember how we used to use it? W-what it meant?”

When Belle looked again at Rumpelstiltskin, she realized that she was probably seeing what her own face had looked like at the beginning of this conversation, that sudden moment of clarity. 

“Oh,” he said simply. “You… would like us to do… that sort of thing… again. Is that what you mean?”

Belle hung her head, but nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I told you, it was a selfish impulse. And if it’s not something you want to do, I understand. But Rumple, you have to know--I never hated your darkness, and I never hated it when you let that darkness play with my body.”

A tremor went through Rumpelstiltskin. The muscles in his face twitched and his lips moved without sound. When he did speak, his voice was slow and breathy. “You… want me… to hurt you?”

Swallowing her embarrassment, Belle nodded. “A game, like we used to play. You were never really angry with me, it was never a real punishment for a real transgression. We were just… pretending.”

“But the pain was real,” he whispered. “The blood was real, the scars, the bruises. I really did hurt you, Belle.”

This time, her nod was more vigorous. “And I’d like you to hurt me again.” She looked down at the floor. It was harder to say these things as his wife than it ever had been when she was his whore. “I used to enjoy wearing your bruises, Rumple.”

His breath caught and Belle looked up. Rumpelstiltskin’s face was unmoving, but his eyes had gone dark and his lips were parted.

Walking up to him, Belle stood in front of her husband for a moment. Slowly, deliberately, she reached into her hair and pulled at the lilac ribbon. Released from their bondage, her curls tumbled over her shoulders in wild waves. She shook her head to help her curls settle into place and to unleash the hidden reserves of her perfume. The smell of roses--of heat, of desire--wafted from Belle to Rumple.

His mouth opened wider as he breathed her in, as he took in the sight of her and all the signs of her yearning. He gaped at her now. He stood up straighter, as if his leather trousers had suddenly grown too tight.

Then, Belle slowly sank to her knees. She hadn’t done this in months. The position was more awkward in her riding clothes and boots than it had been when she had worn nothing but a blue robe. She sat back on her heels, with her hands resting on her husband’s calves. She licked her lips and looked up at him.

“Would you like that, Rumpelstiltskin? Would you like to play a game with me?”

“ _ Fuck _ .” He shivered and looked down at her. “Are you sure?”

“I fell in love with the Dark One,” Belle answered. “I fell in love with the man who owned me, who brought me over the brink of pain again and again. My husband is gentle and kind, but he can also be fearsome and terrible. And I love all of him.”

“Fuck,” Rumple said again. Then he bent at the waist. Then his hands were in her hair and his mouth was over hers and Belle was on her knees and utterly at the mercy of the most powerful dark magician in the world. 

They broke apart, both of them breathless and overwhelmed. They didn’t change positions after the kiss. Belle remained on her knees and Rumple loomed over her. 

“Do you have a preference?” he asked. “Where we do this?”

“Our room,” she said at once. “We make love every other way there. We shouldn’t treat this as separate.”

Bent over, he cradled her face in his hands. “Do you really think that, Belle? That what we’re about to do is just another way to make love?”

Belle nodded. “It is an action, not a curse.”

Rumple looked stricken at that--shocked that she had known what he was thinking, and touched that she would care. “I love you,” he whispered.

“And I love you.”

“I love you,” he repeated as his hand clasped around her throat. Belle gasped and felt her whole body clench in desire as he forced her to the ground. “And that’s why I’m going to make you scream.” 


	2. Blessing

Leaning against the wall for balance, Belle crawled down the spiral staircase from the tower on her hands and knees. She was still in her riding clothes from that morning—her white linen shirt, brown trousers and leather boots. Her curls hung loose over her shoulders. The ribbon that had tied her hair back was clutched in her fist. 

Part of her wished that Rumple had stripped her down before they had begun this journey. Parading through the halls of the castle as naked as the day she was born had once been one of her regular duties. For now she consoled herself with the fact that her trousers were tight enough along her backside that her husband was getting a good view. 

She looked over her shoulder at him. He was walking like the Dark One going about his malevolent business. His hands were behind his back as he strutted proudly through his domain, accompanied by his pet, his toy. His whore. 

A slow heat burned between Belle’s legs and she let out a shuddering breath. 

“Something you want to share, little one?” His voice was high and theatrical with a hint of condescension. She almost expected him to call her  _ dearie _ , but she was glad he didn’t.

“Yes, Rumpelstiltskin.” She answered obediently, calling him by his full name as he had ordered her to on their very first night together. “I was thinking about how grateful I am to be your whore.”

For a moment, the sound of his footsteps stopped. With a puff of wine-red smoke, he appeared in front of her at the foot of the stairs. He bent down to look her in the eye. When he spoke, his voice was even and serious, his real voice.

“But you’re not a whore, Belle. You’re my wife. You’re not submitting to my evil will because of a deal.”

“No, Rumple,” she agreed. “We’re doing this because we like it and because it’s fun. You’re treating me like this because I asked you to.” An early lesson from him sprung back into her mind. “I’m not a whore, Rumpelstiltskin. I’m a slut. I’m not getting paid to fuck you, I’m doing it because I want to.”

His breath hitched and a slow smile spread across his face. “Yes,” he said darkly. She could see his mind working, see him contemplating her description of herself and finding it agreeable. “Yes, my slut. My needy,  _ greedy, _ little thing.”

Belle shivered from her head to her toes. Yes, she was a slut. She was a woman who liked fucking. She was needful for her husband, hungry and desperate for his darkest impulses.

She looked up at him from her place on the floor. “Would you like your slut to kiss your boots, Rumpelstiltskin?”

He backed away and Belle watched his feet scuffle on the stone floor. He was wearing the brown boots today, the ones that were supple and soft with years of wear. When they had first started he had made her kiss his boots every day, but she hadn’t done it since the night of that terrible party.

“I never did tell you  _ why _ I used to demand that humiliation from you, did I?”

Sitting up on her heels, Belle shrugged. “You said it was fealty. I always thought it was to remind me that you were powerful.” 

Rumple got down on his knees so they were on the same level as he faced her. “It was because I had been power- _ less _ . Long ago, before all  _ this _ .” He raised his hands to indicate both the castle and his supernatural body, all the riches and power that were now at his command. “I had been nothing. I had been the one to kiss the boots of powerful men and beg them for mercy that never came.”

Without speaking, Belle raised her hand to his cheek. His confession was no revelation, but she still felt his pain. The torment of his past life--the poverty and shame and physical deprivation--was still undimmed by the decades and centuries that had passed.

“I swore,” he went on, “that I would never be powerless again. I would never let anyone hurt me, or control me, I would never belong to a lord--or a lady.”

He brushed her hair back from her face and gave her a soft smile. His eyes were deep and soulful. 

“But I belong to you now, Belle. You took my dagger in your hands, you hold my power and my very life within your words.” Gently, he took one of her hands, the one that held her ribbon and bore her ring. He placed it on his leather waistcoat, over his chest. “My heart beats only for you, and will until it stops forever. You are my mistress, Belle, and my wife. I would not have it be otherwise, even in a game.”

Even after a month of marriage, it was strange to hear him speak so frankly about his feelings. Belle’s heart grew full and warm at his words. She had to look away before she started crying. Both of them had to stop being so sincere or they would never be able to play the way she wanted to.

“So I won’t kiss your boots, then,” she said briskly. “But I will be your slut, and you will have power over me, yes?”

His loving smile slowly sharpened into a trickster’s grin. “You drive a hard bargain madam, but those are terms I’m inclined to accept.” 

In one motion, he sprang to his feet. His hands held onto hers for a moment, just long enough for him to slip the hair ribbon from her fingers to his. Belle surrendered it without hesitation and stayed down on the floor.

“Will I be your thing, Rumpelstiltskin? Will you use me for your pleasure?”

“Yes indeed!” He struck a pose, dramatic and outrageous and perfect. “But I think this sweet slut I see before me has been well trained.” He eyed her now and rubbed the strip of lilac silk between his thumb and forefinger. “I think you will get  _ pleasure _ out of being my thing, won’t you?” He towered over her and one hand twisted into her hair. His voice was both a murmur and a growl. “Do you like pain, little slut? Will it make you wet if I torture you and treat you  _ roughly? _ ”

On that last word, his grip tightened. Pulling on hair, he forced her to her feet and didn’t let go.

“Oh!” she gave out a breathy moan. Already she felt her body go limp under his control. Her head became light and dreamy. It had been so long since they had done this dance, but she remembered all the steps. She  _ had _ been well trained. 

Rumpelstiltskin pulled her to their bedroom and tossed her through the door. With his hands no longer controlling her Belle staggered into the center of the room, the space between the fireplace and their bed. Dazed and exhilarated, she stayed standing and caught her breath. She looked over at her husband. 

Like a lion stalking its prey, he circled her. He kept his fingers steepled together, the ribbon between his palms. He was all composure and thoughtful silence, but Belle could see through his mask like the surface of still water. If he knew what to do next, he would have done it. Instead, he was waiting for her to make the next move. 

“I feel overdressed,” she announced. She tried to make her voice sound airy and carefree. Part of the game was acting like you weren’t playing. “I don’t imagine the Dark One’s toy rides horses very often.”

“On the contrary!” Rumpelstiltskin snapped into action. With a wave of his hand, her clothes had vanished. Even though she had expected it, the sudden cool air on her skin made her gasp. 

Rumpelstiltskin grinned and slid up to her. He was close enough to touch her naked body, but he didn’t. Not yet.

“No,” he purred. “I imagine this beauty is quite adept at managing  _ beasts _ .” His purr became a snarl. He thrust out one hand between her legs and closed it over her mound. Belle clenched and jerked forward into his grasp.

Then, as quickly as he had reached out, he pulled away. His grin was smug and satisfied, every inch the cocky bastard. 

Belle caught her breath as he circled her again. Her fingers drummed on the sides of her thighs with a tempo as rapid as her heartbeat. She had to calm down. At least, she had to  _ look _ like she was calm. She had to find some way to restrain her emotions. 

Slowly, Belle put her hands behind her back. She rested them over the swell of her backside, looping her fingers around her wrists. 

Her husband took in her position. When she met his eyes, they were warm and understanding. Then he twirled around and became her tormentor again. 

“Indeed,” he went on. “I daresay that you ride regularly--bareback!” He leered at her, waggled his eyebrows. “Don’t you, pretty slut?”

Hands clutching her wrists, Belle nodded. “Yes, Rumpelstiltskin.”

He was behind her now, his breath hot in her ear, his talons scraping long lines up and down her abdomen. “Or do you prefer to be ridden?” he murmured. “Have you ever been ridden hard and put away wet, little one?”

She let out a high-pitched noise from her throat. Her eyes closed and her legs pressed together, seemingly of their own accord. What was a terrible condition for horses sounded like a very pleasant state for her. 

“I asked you a question,” he whispered. 

Belle opened her eyes. “Yes, Rumpelstiltskin,” she answered. “Though it has been some time.”

“Mmm.” He circled her again. He still had the hair ribbon in his hands. “It seems we have some catching up to do. Go to the bed.”

Belle let her arms go out in front of her as she hurried to obey. Only when she stood in front of the bedside, with the gold and royal blue coverlet spread out before her like a vast ocean, did she think to wonder why she had let her hands pull her forward. 

“On top of the bed, I think,” Rumple’s voice came from behind her. “On your elbows and knees with your lovely little arse in the air.”

She scrambled into position, haste and excitement taking all grace away from her movements. Resting on her calves and forearms, Belle faced away from the headboard, from the pillows where she slept every night with her husband beside her. She stared down at her hands. Her wrists were pressed close together, and that felt right.

Rumpelstiltskin had moved out of her sight. Anticipation tingled up Belle’s spine like a creeping menace. She licked her lips and tried to calm herself. 

It was the strangest thing: She  _ knew _ Rumple was going to hurt her. She  _ wanted _ him to hurt her. But there was still a current of fear flowing through her body. In this moment, he was unknown, and unexpected, and exhilarating. Without even really being aware of it, her fingers encircled her wrists tightly while she waited for him to act. Belle bowed her head and submitted herself to Rumpelstiltskin’s will.

He jerked her hands away from each other. Body bent over hers, he held her wrists in his claws and squeezed. 

“You think I didn’t notice that, pet?” His voice was harsh, but not cold. “Do you think I don’t know what you want, what you  _ crave _ ?” Letting her go, he tutted and shook his head.

Belle gaped up at him. It was hard to think just now. Need had fogged over her head. 

“I--”

“Don’t deny it!” He held up a hand. The ribbon was laced through his fingers. “You want more than just a monster, you want a magic-user!” Roughly, he pushed her wrists together and held them in place with one hand. Pressing against her, he pulled her hair back to hiss in her ear. “You want the cuffs again, don’t you, slut?”

Belle clenched and jolted and only Rumpelstiltskin’s hands on her kept her from leaping into the air like a startled cat. As it was, she trembled and felt hot tears in her eyes. But she wasn’t sad, she was just… overwhelmed.

“I asked you a question, my dear.”

“I--I don’t know,” she answered. She tried to breathe. Why was this so hard? It was hard to admit things even to herself, let alone to say them aloud. “I--I feel like I shouldn’t need the cuffs now. But they were--when we did this before--they were so important. It’s strange not to have them anymore.”

Rumpelstiltskin patted her head and rubbed his other thumb over her wedding ring. “Those cuffs were a symbol of our old deal,” he said gently. “With our new situation, they have been repurposed. I wouldn’t change them back for any treasure in the world, not even for your pleasure.”

With one hand still on her back, he bent down and kissed her balled fists. He kissed her ring and he kissed her wrists. When he moved his kisses up to her lips, Belle was ready to give up the game. This was a new situation, as he had said. She could allow her husband to love her gently and sweetly, with no trace of darkness. Perhaps it had been unfair of her to ask this of him. 

But then she felt a pull on her hands and a tightness on her wrists. When she looked in front of her, she saw lilac. The ribbon. Rumpelstiltskin had bound her hands together with her hair ribbon. Experimentally, Belle tried to pull her hands apart, but the knot was stronger than she was. 

He had even tied it with a bow.

“See that?” he chirped. “Pretty packaging for my pretty gift. I cannot  _ wait _ to rip it open and see what’s inside!” 

Belle shivered. Then she realized that her trembling did not go past her bound wrists and she smiled. It grounded her to be restrained, just as it had in the times before her marriage. Resting her head on her arms, she laughed--relief and assurance and euphoria washing over her in waves.

Rumpelstiltskin pulled her head back up. He held her by the throat and looked her in the eye. “I told you, little thing, I know what you crave. I know exactly what kind of degenerate trollop has found herself in my bed.”

Her head lolled against his grasp, she relied on him to support her. “Oh no, am I trespassing?” she giggled. The fog in her mind was delightful now, not debilitating. “Are you going to punish me, Rumpelstiltskin?”

His grip tightened but she relaxed all the more. Her hips rocked in the air and she wanted, oh she  _ wanted _ …

“This is what’s going to happen,” he said calmly. “You, my sweet, are going to ask for your punishment. In fact, you’re going to  _ beg  _ me for it.”

Belle’s eyes fluttered closed and she could not contain her smile. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, please, Rumpelstiltskin. Please punish me.”

“Be careful with your words, sweetheart. Don’t forget the power you have over me.”

Slowly, her eyes blinked open again. Right. As mistress of the dagger, she could command him to do anything and he would have no choice but to obey her. Bound and naked though she may be, Belle was the one with the power. She had to use it wisely.

“What should I say then?” she asked dreamily.

Rumple stroked her back and let her lean into his touch. “As I said, you’re going to beg. You’re going to ask, ‘Will you hit me, Rumpelstiltskin?’ And my answer will be yes. I will strike your lovely arse with the flat of my hand using as much force as I deem appropriate. If you want me to do it again, you will ask me again, ‘Will you hit me, Rumpelstiltskin?’ And I will oblige your request, as many times as you give it.” He held her head up and looked her in the eye. “But if you do not ask, and if you cannot say all of the words, then I will not strike.”

“Will you fuck me as well?”

He made a sound then, a breathy exhalation of arousal. “I would like to,” he answered. “Yes, there is little I would like more than to have you underneath me, to have your hot, greedy cunt begging for my cock as much as your needy body begs for my wrath.”

Belle let out a moan. Her toes curled as her legs pressed together.

“Yes, I see that’s what you want  _ now _ , you delicious slut. But we’ll make sure it’s still what you want after I’ve left a few bruises, hmm?”

“Mmm!” She tried to swallow her wanton noises, but the high-pitched pleading could not be stifled. 

Rumpelstiltskin trailed one finger lazily down her spine. “You still have some scars, you know. From all our previous adventures.”

She lifted her head, tried to keep her teeth from chattering. He had barely touched her and she was already a gibbering mess. “You can make more,” she breathed. “If you want to.”

“Not now,” he murmured. “Not yet. Patience is the only virtue I have, and I like to mix it in with my vices.”

Belle nodded and slowly lifted up one finger from her bound hands. “One more thing?”

“Yes?”

“When--when we’re done with the game… will you stay?”

“Stay?” he asked.

Belle nodded again. “Will you stay with me in bed? Will you hold me for a little while? Will--will you comfort me?”

Her husband looked her in the eyes again. “Belle, if you think you will need comforting after this game, then we don’t need to--”

“No!” She cut him off with a burst of petulant stubbornness. “No, I  _ want _ you to hurt me, and I want you to comfort me afterwards. And I want you to fuck me and make me come and I want you to enjoy it as much as I do.  _ That’s _ the game, Rumple. Do you understand the rules?”

For a moment, he just gave her a long, considering look. Then, Rumpelstiltskin nodded.

Satisfied, Belle straightened up on her knees and rested her head on her bound hands. “Then let’s begin. Will you hit me, Rumpelstiltskin?”

He hesitated for half a heartbeat, and then his impish voice said, “Yes!”

The first blow announced itself like the first thunderclap of a summer storm. Belle yelped at the shock and recoiled from the pain, even though she had known it was coming, even though she  _ wanted _ it. 

But it was all so much, and she already felt so raw and so exposed. In the state she was in even a gentle tap would have made her scream.

But she wanted to scream. That was the whole point. That was what she had asked for and what he had promised to give her. And she loved Rumple. She trusted him. He would give her what she wanted. He would take care of her.

Belle took a breath, and let the words fall from her lips. “Will you hit me, Rumpelstiltskin?” 

This second strike felt softer, though perhaps that was only because she was getting used to them again. She rocked on her knees and felt the heat rising up from her secret places. Her cunt felt so empty, so desperate to be touched. She couldn’t wait for Rumple to fuck her, but she also wanted more pain. 

She wanted everything at once, and she had to beg to get any of it. 

“Will you hit me, Rumpelstiltskin?”

This one was sharp and quick. Belle heard the  _ crack _ of his hand on her flesh almost before she felt the pain of the impact. Now, instead of yelping, Belle moaned.

“Enjoying yourself, little slut?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Are you?”

“Very much.” He made a noise in the back of his throat. “I’d almost forgotten how beautiful you are from this vantage point. I’d missed the way you jiggle.”

Belle clenched again at the thought of what he was seeing. “Are you making me red, Rumple?”

“Oh, not yet. Right now your arse is only as pink as your cunt, my dear.”

She shuddered. “Am--am I wet for you?”

“You know you are, you perfect slut.” But his fingers went inside her anyway. The pleasure of his touch was almost overshadowed by the sounds he made--first a hiss, and then a dark chuckle. “As I suspected, absolutely  _ sodden _ , you filthy girl.”

When he pulled away, Belle bit her lip to keep from crying out at the emptiness. But then, she smelled a familiar brininess under her nose. She opened her eyes and Rumpelstiltskin’s hand was in front of her mouth, two dripping fingers extended. 

“Clean it up,” he ordered.

Without a second thought, Belle opened her mouth and licked her own wetness off of her husband’s hand. She sucked his fingers into her mouth and wished they were his cock.

“You’re an absolute  _ mess _ ,” he said as he stroked her hair. “Only three hits and you’re already drowning in your own desire.” He pulled his hand out of her mouth and used it to hold her chin. “What do you have to say for yourself, hmm?”

Belle looked him in the eye and smiled. “Will you hit me, Rumpelstiltskin?”

And on it went. Over and over, Belle asked for pain, and over and over Rumple gave it to her. She surrendered into losing herself in the sensations. Hit by hit, everything about herself melted away until all she knew was the heat of her pain and the liquid joy of her pleasure.

It had been so long since they had done this, since she had last felt all these wonderful paradoxes: When Rumple bound her, he set her free. When he hurt her, she felt safe. And when he declared her to be his creature, that was when Belle knew he was most hers. After all, she had asked for this game, and he was giving it to her.

She would have liked not to have to ask him every time. Remembering to say the specific words made it hard for her to float away entirely, as she wanted to. And she trusted Rumple. She would have gladly taken as much violence as he wanted to dole out. But of course, he knew that. And Belle knew her husband still didn’t trust himself. So she had to ask, every time, until her mind had drifted so far away from her body that her mouth didn’t work anymore. 

“Will you… please Rummle?”

“I didn’t quite catch that one, dear.”

“Pliss?” Belle muttered. Her head had fallen onto the mattress again. She wasn’t on her knees anymore. Her legs had long ago given way and she lay flat on the bed, face down with her bound hands extended. “Plese himme Rumple?”

“No, sweetheart.” While Belle was a bleary wreck, her husband was calm and gathered. He pulled her up into his arms and lay down on the bed to hold her. “I think you’ve had enough for one day.”

Leaning into his neck, Belle nodded. She could have taken more, but she couldn’t fight against the comfort of his embrace.

With one quick pull, Rumpelstiltskin undid the lilac ribbon that bound her wrists together. Lovely red lines marked her pale skin. He rubbed at them, shaking some feeling back into her hands.

“How are you, my little one?”

“Good,” Belle sighed. Her head fell back against his collar. He was still wearing his clothes. That wasn’t right. Weakly, Belle plucked at his leather waistcoat. “Off,” she ordered with all the force of a falling raindrop.

Rumple held her tighter. “Everything or just the waistcoat?”

“Errything,” she muttered as her eyes closed. She had cried a bit during this game and it felt good to close her eyes. “I want you.”

“Yes, I can see you’re in a  _ frenzy _ of desire.” He teased her, but his clothes disappeared all the same. Belle rested now against his bare skin. He was so warm, so good.

“I love you.” She was so exhausted her lips could barely move, but he had to know. She had never been allowed to tell him before. Once, playing like this had been the easiest way to get him to act lovingly, but they had never been able to say it. “I love you, Rumple.”

He kissed her gently on the temple. “I love you, Belle.” 

With the hand that wasn’t holding onto her, he summoned a goblet of cool, sweet wine. He held the cup and Belle drank gratefully. She felt more calm after that, more awake. How funny that wine would make her feel  _ more _ sober. 

Rumple held her for a long time, stroking her arms and kissing her face. He was gentle and attentive, but of course he always was after a game. Even before either of them had recognized it, her husband had been full of love. 

“Do you really like this?” he asked softly. “Do you like being hurt? Do you like being rendered insensible afterwards?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded. “That’s why I asked for it.”

Shuddering, Rumpelstiltskin held her more tightly. In a voice so soft she almost didn’t hear it, he said: “I wonder if I would like it.”

Belle reached out her hands to grab whatever part of him was close. “I like giving up control,” she said. “I like trusting you.”

He squeezed her again. “Do you think I’m trustworthy?”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t a risk,” she grinned. “That’s part of the fun, Rumple. There has to be a little bit of danger.”

Instead of enjoying her joke, he clutched at her body. “I don’t want to put you in danger, sweetheart.”

“Pretend danger,” she clarified. “It is a game.” 

“Pretend danger, with real pain.”

“And real pleasure.” Eyes open, Belle pulled herself up to face her husband. Her head felt clear now, even brighter and more alive than she had been before they had started. “I wouldn’t ask for this if I didn’t enjoy it.” 

He took her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. “I want to give you what you enjoy, my sweet.”

She put her other hand on his bare chest. “You did wonderfully, Rumple. Thank you.”

Looking down, he shook his head. “I still don’t understand how you can want this, how you want to ‘play’ like this.”

“Don’t you want it?”

He looked away from her. “Of course I do,” he muttered. “But I am evil, Belle. My lusts are… corrupt and perverse. You are good. How can you--”

“What do ‘good people’ do in their bedrooms, in your mind?” She took his face in her hands and forced him to look her in the eye. “Do you think good men and women don’t lust for each other? How do they have children, then?”

Rumple’s eyes glinted at her. “Are you saying that your father and your mother got up to the sort of things  _ we _ do, my love?” He raised his eyebrows in mock admonishment. “Perhaps I’ve married into a family of degenerates.”

Laughing, Belle fell back to her side of the bed. She stretched her naked body out and let her legs splay open invitingly. “Maybe they did,” she giggled. “I always knew my parents loved each other more than most married couples. Perhaps that was their secret.”

Licking his lips, Rumple leaned over until he was on top of Belle, his body between her legs. “Perhaps that’s why so many marriages are unhappy,” he suggested. “Because they don’t have any perversions.”

“Or because they don’t trust each other with them,” Belle said thoughtfully. “Maybe normal people think they need to keep their true selves a secret from their spouses, because they don’t feel safe with them.”

Rumple sighed. “Yes, that is… a familiar story.”

Reaching up, Belle put her hands on her husband’s chest. She kissed his cheek and let her hands wander downward. “It really is a blessing,” she said. “To be able to be honest about what you want, and what you like.” 

Her hands found his cock and she gently pulled him down to her wetness. He slid inside her and once they were joined, she let out a long sigh.

“Yes,” she said. “To know and be known and to have no shame--that is the greatest blessing of all.”

“In that case,” Rumple said as he began to take her, as their bodies began to move together, as they became one flesh as they had already been one mind and one heart, “evil as I am, I will be happy to  _ bless _ you for as long as you see fit.”

Belle wrapped her legs around his waist and threw her arms over his shoulders. “Forever then,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he smiled. “Forever.” 


End file.
